


Crows

by Jennie_D



Series: Becoming New [13]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Wildling Jon Snow, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: The sounds grew closer, and Jon could hear sharp leather boots, could hear snatches of conversation in the common tongue. And soon enough two figures came into view. Two figures cloaked in black.Crows.
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Becoming New [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424734
Comments: 9
Kudos: 170





	Crows

The day dawned, chilled and golden. Jon stirred awake, warmed by the heat Tormund’s body beside him under their shared furs. There was a feeling in the air, a coolness, a scent. Something deep in Jon knew this was a good morning for hunting. 

He stretched, sat up, smiled when Ghost uncurled at his feet. He spent a moment scratching the wolf behind the ears in greeting, burying hands deep in soft fur. Let Ghost lick his face ear to ear. Then Jon stretched once more and stood, dressing quickly in deerhide and bearskin. 

Soon enough, he’d put on his coat and strapped into his boots. The light slanted long and low under the door of their home. It lit Tormund’s face, and the man stirred. Jon felt fondness squeeze his heart at the sight of his sleeping form, at his hair like flames in the sunrise. He knelt down to press a kiss to Tormund’s bare shoulder. Then he stood, took his bow from it’s hanging place on the wall, and slipped out into the morning, Ghost at his heels. 

For a bare moment, he squinted in the sunlight, adjusting. The small circle of buildings was quiet. The clan was mostly still abed, though Jon could see Ulelda picking herbs from her garden and Berik reknotting his fishing net. He waved and watched them wave in turn before beginning his hike up an old footworm path, out into the forest.

Soon the path became thin and the pines became thick. Jon slipped silently through the trees, watching, listening. He saw the wind stir the branches, heard the songbirds calling through the sky. Saw the curve of a rabbit’s back and heard it’s feet scratching in old underbrush. 

Jon paused, crouched slowly, waited patiently with his bow raised. He drew all his focus to the rabbit, watched how it’s nose and ears twitched. He let his mind flow into his arm, his arm into his bow, let them all become one. He waited, waited, waited, and let the arrow fly. 

It caught the rabbit cleanly in the chest, and Jon moved to retrieve his kill. 

He kept moving through the forest. The hunting was sparer than he'd like; he’d been hoping to catch some deer or elk. But he understood that this was the nature of hunting, was grateful for what he could find. 

Soon enough Jon came to a clearing by the Antler River. He paused and took in the scene. The sun was still rising, and he took in the pinks and oranges of the new day’s sky. Watched the mist rise off the water. Jon was struck by the beauty of it. He knew even if he lived beyond the Wall a hundred years, he’d be struck by the beauty of this place. 

He was thirsty, so he knelt by the riverbank to drink.

True summer had not yet come, there was still frost coating the ground. But it was warm enough that the water flowed freely. As Jon knelt by the water in the morning light, he caught his reflection with mirrorlike clarity.

Not too long ago, the sight of his own reflection had made Jon’s stomach twist in conflict. He once looked at his rough-cut furs on his back and felt guilt for leaving his Night’s Watch blacks behind. But now Jon simply smiled. His hair had grown far past his shoulders, his beard was thickening. There were dark striking clan marks winding up his neck. He wore a bear-skin coat made by Tormund’s own hands. Jon found he quite liked how he looked. 

He took off his gloves and cupped his hands in the water, casting ripples across the reflection. Brought his hands to his mouth and drank deep, lapping the cold clear water with his tongue. Ghost appeared from the treeline, muzzle coated with blood, and joined Jon at the riverbank to share in his drink.

Jon sat back and rested for a moment, considering how to continue his morning. He could head back to the clan, share the rabbit he’d killed with Tormund. Or he could continue to hunt, search for bear droppings or antler scorings, see if he could bring down some bigger-

There was a sudden sound. Jon paused his thoughts, put his senses in the moment. There was another sound, a twig snapping. Snips of conversation, movement of feet in the underbrush. 

Someone was walking through the forest. Walking loudly. 

Jon moved, quickly and quietly, away from the river bank. Disappeared into the tree line, crouched low under the bushes. Ghost moved with him, hid himself by Jon’s side.

The sounds grew closer, and Jon could hear sharp leather boots, could hear snatches of conversation in the common tongue. And soon enough two figures came into view. Two figures cloaked in black.

_ Crows _ .

Jon crouched lower.

_ This’ll mean trouble. _

The thought came to him unbidden, and Jon shook his head. Yes, these were brothers of the Night’s Watch. But they were not his enemies. 

As he watched, he even recognized one of them, Wyton Waters. A brother of the Watch who’d occasionally been friendly with dear Edd. Wyton had even fought by Jon’s side at the Battle of Winterfell. 

Yet even with this knowledge, Jon did not move from his hiding place. He hesitated, like an animal scenting a trap. For he remembered the shadow of knives slipping under his ribs, heard the whispers of horror stories shared by the Free Folk.

_ But things are different now _ he tried to reason.  _ There’s no need for the Cro - for the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk to be at odds.  _

No. But there was a reason for the Night’s Watch to be at odds with  _ Jon _ . After all, what other reason would the Watch have to go this far north? Jon had been gone too long, far too long. The moon had cycled countless times since he’d left Castle Black. He was a fugitive from justice, a deserter. 

At worst, they’d cut his head off. At best... _ they’d make him go back _ . Would try to wrestle him back into a Crow coat, would try to mold his mind back into a brother’s shape. They’d take him away from his clan, from his newfound kin. They’d take him away from Tormund. 

_ Tormund. _

The thought of Tormund gave Jon pause. These men might have fought by Jon’s side once, but that was a long time ago. If Jon kept hiding, didn’t give himself up, these men could go after Tormund. After all, some deserters were drawn out by punishing their family. If the Night’s Watch were looking at him, and it was discovered the clan had been hiding him...all of them could face punishment. 

He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let anyone else suffer on his account. It would be best to face these Crows, discover what they had in store for him, take any punishment on himself. It would be best to protect Tormund.

So Jon pushed past the sorrow squeezing his heart, let the memory of Tormund sleeping peacefully in the sun give him courage, and moved from his hiding place. 

Ghost stayed hidden, whined softly. As if he thought Jon was making a mistake.

The Crows didn’t see him at first. They were too busy arguing at something.

“I’m telling you, we’ve gone too far.”

“We’re near the harbor Wyton, just give it a few more hours.”

“A fortnight ago we were supposed to reach - fuck!”

The Crow Jon didn’t recognize had spotted him, was drawing his sword. Jon put his hands in the air, trying to show he wasn’t a threat. 

But the other Crow, Wynton, was already calming his fellow. 

“Put that away, we’re supposed to be talking to them, not fighting them.”

“He came out of nowhere!”

“They tend to do that. Curse the Seven, I can’t believe Pyke saddled me with such a green boy.”

As the younger Crow sputtered protests, Wyton moved towards Jon slowly. The man was painfully familiar. Jon remembered the terror in his eyes during the Battle of Winterfell. He remembered the bravery with which he fought. This Wynton was one of the brothers who’d led Jon to Edd’s body after the battle was done. It hurt to look at him, to remember all the horrors of the past.

Jon knew he should feel some guilt that he’d abandoned this man who’d fought with him, abandoned the Watch he was supposed to be sworn to. But all he could think of was that he hoped he could convince Wyton to let him stay with Tormund. And if not, at least let him go home to say goodbye. 

Tears pricked at Jon’s eyes. He waited for the moment of recognition, the angry declarations of betrayal, the cold of steel at his neck.

Wyton called towards him.

“Excuse my young companion, we’re not here to make trouble. We’re looking for Hardhome. We fear that we’re weeks out of the way. Could you help turn us in the right direction?”

Jon just stood where he was, thrown by the unexpected words. They were looking for Hardhome? Did Wyton have  _ nothing _ to say to him, a former Lord Commander, former King turned traitor?

Wyton was coming closer, closer, but no recognition sparked in his eyes. 

“Hello? You have any idea where Hardhome is?”

Wyton was looking straight into Jon’s eyes as if he’d never seen him before.

“Can you talk?”

_ “E-emegnǝ egnulu, ila-”  _ Jon was so thrown by this entire situation that it took him a moment to realize he’d started his sentence in the Antler River language rather than common. Before he could correct himself, Wynton swore and turned back to his companion. 

“Fuck, I don’t think this one speaks common.”

The younger man groaned. “How the fuck are we supposed to figure out where we are?”

“I saw some smoke up ahead, maybe there’s a camp nearby with someone who can talk to us.”

“Gods, I don’t want to deal with more fucking Wildlings.”

“The whole point of this mission is to talk with fucking Wildlings, so get used to it.”

Wynton nodded at Jon in a short goodbye, and then he and his friend were off into the woods, walking away, chatting loudly and crashing through the underbrush. 

Jon gave himself a few quiet moments to stand in quiet bewilderment before running silently in the direction of home. 

* * *

He knew these trees better than the corridors of Winterfell and made his way back quickly, Ghost at his side. He rushed to the center of camp, pushing past newly awoken clansmen. Tormund was awake, talking to Berik by the remnants of last night’s bonfire. He smiled when he saw Jon, but the smile faded as he registered the alarm on his face.

Jon reached him, breathing hard. He staggered a bit as he stopped, and Tormund grabbed his arm to steady him. 

His eyes sparked with concern. “What is it, little wolf?”

“Crows,” Jon gasped out. “Two of them. Heading this way.”

Tormund’s eyes grew serious, his lips hardened into a frown. “Just two? Did they have horses? What sort of weapons did they have?”

“I didn’t see horses, but they did have swords. Seemed to just be a pair of ranger scouts looking for Hardhome, but still-”

“We should be ready,” Tormund finished. “Berik, alert the others. Tell everyone to keep weapons close but not obvious. I don’t plan to start a fight, but we should be prepared for one in case of the worst.”

Berik nodded and went to go spread the word. Tormund turned back to Jon.

“You should go back to the hut, keep yourself there until this is all over.”

Jon shook his head. “If they’re hunting for me, I won’t put the clan in danger-”

“If they’re hunting for you, you should stay hidden. The clan will be safest if they don’t know you’re here.”

“Tormund-”

“These Crows might be here for all sorts of reasons. Let’s not reveal your presence and inspire them to drag you back. Go Jon.”

His tone was firm, left no room for argument. Jon leaned up and captured Tormund’s lips in a desperate, soft kiss. When they pulled away, Tormund traced the line of Jon’s jaw, his hand rough on Jon’s skin.

“Hide for me little wolf,” he whispered. “I know you’re one for fighting, but don’t let them take you away from me.”

Jon nodded, captured Tormund’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “Be safe, love.”

Tormund nodded, and Jon turned towards home, moved through the restless camp, and shut himself inside.

* * *

Jon spent the better part of the day indoors, worrying. He paced their small hut back and forth, packing down the earthen floor. He cleaned, cooked, and ate the rabbit he’d caught with quick precision. When that was done, nervously seeking something else for his hands to do, he rewove a broken basket he’d been meaning to fix for weeks. Then sewed some torn hide back together. Then whittled a large stick down to a tiny nub.

Occasionally he’d strain his ears for conversation, try to catch glimpses of what was going on around the edges of their doorway. He saw two blurred shapes in black at the center of camp, but heard no shouting, no fighting. Jon knew he should take this as a good sign. But still, he worried.

Eventually Jon tried to sleep, cuddling down beside Ghost, his lone companion on this stressful day. He tried to lose himself in Ghost’s mind, embrace the simplicity of being a wolf. But in his anxiety, both sleep and simple comfort escaped him. 

Finally, after an endless age, the door opened and Tormund entered. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Jon sat up eagerly to greet him, grabbed at Tormund’s furs and pulled him down to sit beside him.

“It’s all right, little wolf.” Tormund’s voice was steady, a rock in this uncertain day. “They’re just a scouting party. They’ve been trying to find Hardhome, ask them about trade. At first light tomorrow, Olegg and Alrik are going to take them downriver in one of the longboats.”

“So they’re not-”

“They’re not hunting for you, no.”

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief, buried his face in Tormund’s shoulder. Tormund slipped a strong arm around his waist. For a long moment, they simply breathed together. 

“I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw them in the woods,” Jon said after a moment. “I remembered one of them, and it was startling seeing him. I thought for sure they were taking me in for punishment. But then they just looked right through me. Like they’d never seen me before.”

Tormund hummed in approval. “Well, your hair’s growing out nice and long, you’ve got that lovely fur I made you. These Crows must not be able to recognize true beauty.”

Jon huffed out a small laugh. “I’m no beauty.”

“Of course you are. You’re the fairest maiden beyond the Wall.”

Jon hit Tormund’s shoulder lightly, grinning, relieved at the return to simple normalcy. He lay down under their furs and Tormund curled himself around him. They lay comfortable and content in the dark.

After a long moment, Jon stirred. “What would we have done?” he asked quietly. “What would we have done if they did come around asking for me?”

Tormund shifted next to him, rubbed a hand on Jon’s thigh. “Simple,” he said. “If those Crows came by asking for Jon Snow, I’d tell them the truth.”

Jon turned towards him, confusion on his face. Tormund was smiling softly. 

“I’d tell them I haven’t seen Jon Snow for a long time,” he continued, voice quiet. “After all, Free Folk don’t use bastard names.”

Jon smiled, curled back against Tormund’s side. He rested his head on the larger man’s chest, and let the sound of Tormund’s breathing lull him to sleep. 

* * *

He woke at first light again the next morning. He dressed quickly, quietly. Kissed a sleeping Tormund on the cheek. Put his hood up over his face before stepping out into the light. 

He looked towards the dock but hung back, watching these brothers from another life load the small longboat. Before long they were traveling down the river, far away from their camp.

Jon kept expecting one of the Crows to turn and see him, kept expecting that they’d feel his gaze on their backs and realize who was staring at them. They didn’t.

An old thought sparked in Jon’s mind, and he wondered if it wasn’t better to call out to them. More honorable to go back with them and face justice at the Wall. 

He dismissed this thought as soon as it’d come. No. Jon knew where he belonged. 

The boat moved out of sight. Jon turned towards the forest, eager for some early morning hunting. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The thing Jon says while confused is from another David Peterson creation (the same one I used in Language). It translates to "I - I'm sorry, but..."


End file.
